Chapter 14
Alexandria
I’m wearing a massive jacket that comes down to my knees. The sleeves are rolled three times, and I’ve wrapped it around me tightly and belted it, instead of zipping it up.
It smells of woodsmoke, pine, and something mysterious that is unmistakably Gunnar.
He pulls the door closed behind us and starts down the path that leads away from the lodge.
Our breath comes out in clouds, mingling in the cold air.
I notice him shortening his steps so he can stay at my pace.
He glances down at me. “Still think you didn’t need the jacket?”
I shrug. “Maybe,” I lie. The cold is stinging my cheeks, but the rest of me is wonderfully warm.
I follow him onto a narrow trail that disappears into the trees.
The forest closes around us almost immediately. The lodge lights vanish behind the trunks, the darkness settling in.
I glance over my shoulder.
“You nervous?” Gunnar asks.
I huff out a breath. “I mean… this whole walking through the forest at night thing.”
“I know it’s strange for humans,” he says. “But you’re with me.”
I nod. I am. And weird as it seems, I trust him.
The trail winds between tall pines. The ground is uneven here, roots pushing up through the frozen soil.
“What kind of animals are out here?” I ask.
“All sorts.”
“Helpful.”
He huffs a quiet laugh.
“Deer. Elk sometimes. Foxes. Coyotes.”
We walk a little farther. The trees creak softly in the wind above us.
“Bears?” I ask.
Gunnar gives me a sideways look.
“Obviously.”
“Full-time bears, I mean.”
“Nope. They give us a wide berth. We scare the crap out of them.”
He stops, tilting his head, listening.
I freeze. “What?” I whisper.
“Deer.” He points. “Two, right over there.”
“You can hear them?”
“I can smell them.”
Of course he can.
We keep moving.
The trail dips, and a fallen tree lies across it, its bark rimed with frost.
Gunnar steps over easily, then turns back toward me.
“Come here.”
He reaches for my hand. His other arm goes around my waist, and before I know what’s happening, he lifts me over the trunk and sets me down on the other side. My boots hit the ground with a soft crunch.
We walk a few more steps before I realize that he’s still holding one of my hands.
And I don’t want him to let it go.
The trail ahead grows brighter. The trees thin, and suddenly we step out into a wide clearing.
The sky opens above us—vast and black, scattered with stars.
“Look at that,” I say.
“I wanted you to see it,” he says. “Away from the lights.”
“You don’t get skies like this in cities,” I agree with a shiver.
His brows draw together. “Cold?”
“No, just being confronted with my own tininess.”
“You are tiny.”
I laugh. “Thanks.”
“You’re standing on a rock flying through space,” he says. “Everything on it is tiny.”
I consider that.
“There are eight billion people on Earth,” I say. “How many shifters?”
He shrugs. “It’s not like we keep records.”
When I drop my gaze, he’s watching me instead of the sky. “Could a bear’s mate be anywhere in the world?”
“I guess.”
I try to imagine the odds of that.
“And if a bear never finds his mate?”
He’s silent for a long time. “We spend our lives alone,” he says at last. “Some find roles within the clan though.”
His jaw tightens. “Others… lose their minds.”
“Lose their minds?”
He nods. “They go feral. Dangerous.”
“And then?”
“They’re put down.”
“Put down?” I echo, shuddering. This whole culture is so alien. “So brutal.”
“For them, it’s mercy,” Gunnar says gravely.
I stare at him.
“But it’s rare,” he adds. “Most of us find our mate eventually.”
“How?”
He shrugs, looks up at the sky again. “The universe has a way of handling it.”
Something about the way he says it makes my stomach flip.
“And the ones who do find their mate?”
“They’re happy,” he says simply. “They fit each other. Perfectly.”
The words hang in the cold air between us. The clearing is silent, the forest dark around its edges, the sky blazing with stars.
Gunnar is very close, the heat of his body cutting through the cold night air.
“Sounds… nice,” I say quietly.
His gaze drops from the sky to me. “You have no idea.”
I go still.
Then Gunnar reaches up and brushes a strand of hair away from my face.
His hand doesn’t drop.
It lingers against my cheek, rough and warm.
“Alexandria,” he says.
The way he says my name is softer than before.
Then he leans down and kisses me.
His lips meet mine in a soft crush.
They’re lush, blissful.
For a moment the world disappears.
There’s just the pressure of his mouth, the warmth of his body, the way he holds me like he never wants to let me go.
A moan escapes me, and his hand comes up to the back of my neck, fingers threading into my hair as he tilts my head and kisses me again—deeper this time, his tongue sliding into my mouth.
I gasp softly against him.
Our bodies press together, heat surging between us despite the freezing night air.
At last, we break apart, but he stays close, forehead touching mine, our breath mingling in the frigid air. His arms are still wrapped around me, holding me tight.
All I can do is stare back at him in shock.
I mean, I might’ve been fantasizing about this happening, as he led me through the forest, his gigantic hand enveloping mine. But I hadn’t realized that he might actually want me, little human me, for real.
My head is spinning.
“Alexandria,” he murmurs.
My pulse is still racing.
“Yes?”
His thumb moves against my skin.
“You’re dangerous.”
I make a small sound. “I didn’t do anything.”
“No.” He gives a ragged groan. “You just show up here on my mountain and kiss me like that.”
I swallow. “You kissed me first.”
He’s silent for a long time, nostrils flaring. “I did,” he replies at last. He takes a step back, emotions passing across his face too quick to register.
“You regret it?” I ask.
His gaze drifts to my lips.
“No,” he says at last.
He steps toward me again, erasing the space between us.
This time there’s no hesitation.
He pulls me in hard, his body solid against mine.
“Gunnar—”
It comes out thin, barely a word.
His hand lifts to my jaw, holding me there.
For a second he just looks at me—like he’s deciding something.
Then he kisses me again.
Not careful this time.
His mouth is rough, demanding, his grip tightening as his hands move over me—restless, searching.
The force of it knocks the breath out of me.
I don’t pull away.
I lean into it.
Want more of it.
More of him.
The clearing disappears. The cold disappears.
There’s nothing but him.
A sharp crack splits the air.
Gunnar freezes.
For half a second, I don’t understand.
Until something huge crashes through the trees.
He pulls away instantly.
I follow his gaze into the darkness, see nothing.
Then he shouts, “Orson!”
At the same moment a massive grizzly bear bursts into the clearing.
I scream.
Part of me knows it’s Orson.
But the deeper, more primal part of me only sees an eight-foot grizzly with claws and teeth, coming straight at us.
Gunnar instantly pulls me against him, wrapping his arms around me.
“It’s okay,” he murmurs.
His big hand cups the back of my head, pressing my face against his chest as if he wants to shield me from whatever is about to happen.
“What the hell are you doing here?” he growls. “Explain yourself right now.” His voice is barely above a whisper, but there’s no mistaking the menace in it.
The bear stops abruptly.
Then its body begins to twist.
I don’t want to look.
But I can’t help it. I keep my head pressed against Gunnar’s chest and watch with one eye.
Bones crack.
Limbs shrink.
The huge shape collapses down onto all fours before rising again, the fur receding, the body contorting in a series of violent snaps.
Within seconds the bear is gone.
And Orson is standing there in its place.
His chest is heaving, his eyes wild with fury. “I saw you,” he spits.
Gunnar’s body goes rigid beside me. “What the hell were you doing out here?”
Orson bares his teeth in something that isn’t a smile.
“Hunting,” he says. “Remember? Since I wasn’t welcome in the house.”
His gaze flicks to me, full of accusation.
“And now I see why.”
A low sound rolls out of Gunnar’s chest. “Watch yourself,” he says.
Orson laughs, sharp and ugly.
“Oh, I’m watching.” His eyes flash. “You bring a human up here and start—”
“Enough.”
The word cracks through the clearing. For a moment everything goes still.
Then I feel it.
Gunnar’s arms tighten around me.
Too tight.
His breathing changes. I glance up at him—
—and my stomach drops.
His jaw is clenched so hard the tendons stand out in his neck. His nostrils flare, drawing in deep, sharp breaths like he’s trying to control something inside himself.
“Gunnar?” I whisper.
He doesn’t look at me. His eyes are fixed on Orson. “Alexandria,” he says tightly. The word comes out strained.
“Run!”
Adrenaline darts through me. “What—”
“Back to the lodge,” he growls.
His voice is barely human now.
“Straight back.”
Orson’s expression shifts. “Gunnar—”
“GO.”
The command explodes out of him.
I don’t argue. I turn and bolt.
The path is barely visible, a pale strip between the trees. Branches claw at my sleeves. I stumble on loose dirt, lungs burning.
Behind me, the forest erupts.
A roar splits the night—raw, violent.
I flinch but keep moving.
The ground drops under my foot and I falter, grabbing a tree to steady myself. Bark scrapes my palm.
I stop.
The darkness presses in from all sides. I can barely see the path anymore. The trees are black walls around me, the sky barely visible.
For a second I have no idea which direction I’m facing.
Another crash tears through the trees. A second roar follows—closer.
I brace against the trunk, breath tearing in my chest.
I should run.
But I’ve lost the trail.
Something massive slams into the ground behind me.
Too close.